"Enough of this!" he says loudly. "Whaddya want to do? Go chasing into all sorts of wild orbits on account of a talking cat, for Chrissake? We're well off the damn' planet with our skins and our data. Let's stay off!"
He is angry. We hate him. No ... the Klygha hates him.
He makes the cat yowl at Halloran, and Halloran catches the cat.
We bite him!
No ... the cat bites Halloran. The Klygha makes the cat bite Halloran, but we see it. We feel it. We hear Halloran's words, but his mouth twists and is not to understand. His mind is to understand. He strikes out. He will kill....
It is hard to see, because everything whirls about, as when one is caught below in a strong, tumbling current. Then the other Terrans have their grippers all over Halloran and the cat is free of him.
It fears and rages mightily for so small a being. It swims under something low, where it crouches to snarl hate at the feet of the Terrans. Somehow—we wish we knew!—it has forced the Klygha out of its mind.
Then, from the Klygha, we feel true despair!
If the Klygha did not feel so bad, we could interest ourselves in the cat, for we still see and feel with it. Are we better at this than the Klygha? Did he, too, feel Halloran's mind for an instant? It cannot be ... yet perhaps we are better at remembering. Until the Klygha, memory was our all.